


(my sacred pining whims, my sacred vining whims)

by navigator (moonprism)



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Graduate School, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, i fucking guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9087433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonprism/pseuds/navigator
Summary: Kihyun's life is falling apart, and Hyungwon is the center of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i love this pairing so much. i do. so fucking much.
> 
> i wrote this in november but it was left unfinished in my google docs for a long time. i decided to rush the ending and not edit or go back through this and read this so i could get rid of it. it doesnt make sense and its wordy. sorry!!!!!!! esp sorry for any mistakes and continuity errors... a bitch cant be asked 2 fix it...

Hyungwon is the first thing Kihyun sees when he opens the door of their apartment. Only the kitchen light is on, the green white glow of fluorescents casting down onto his form in their dining room turned graduate-student-Hell-room. They bought the table second hand from the Goodwill when they first moved out here, thinking they’d restore normalcy to their lives with eating proper meals at a table like most people. (Hyungwon says most people eat in their living rooms anyway, so that’s what they do.) The table alternates: one week it’s covered in Hyungwon’s graduate thesis research, the next it’s covered in Kihyun’s. It’s a faulty system, but it works. For now.

 

Kihyun’s research is coming along steadily, but he’s made no  _ real  _ progress with the whole “completing it” aspect. He feels like he’s standing on his last leg and that maybe following Hyungwon to grad school was a mistake. They don’t go to the same university, but both of their schools are in the same city (and Kihyun wonders how on Earth he got lucky enough to get accepted at all, let alone in the same city as Hyungwon’s). Hyungwon spends most of his time at their dining room table or on Kihyun’s bedroom floor reading obscure American lit and American poets Kihyun can’t force himself to care about it anymore.

 

There was a time he did care, but it’s long since passed.

 

Some days Hyungwon will sit in Kihyun’s bed instead of on the floor, back against the wall and legs crossed with his laptop generating heat on his thighs. Kihyun will sit against the adjacent wall, feet dangling off the full sized mattress, eyes trained on a video game he truthfully has no time to be playing. What can Kihyun say? Fuck everything, maybe?

 

He studies eventually, usually—Hyungwon annoys him until he does so, poking his bare toes into Kihyun’s calves and obnoxiously reading poetry or something equally terrible and boring aloud. This routine repeats so regularly (and has since it started so many years ago) that Kihyun will feel empty when it ends, he’s sure. 

 

“Hey,” Hyungwon says, pen between thick lips and circle framed glasses perched on his nose. The sleeves of Hyungwon’s hoodie are pushed up to his elbows, fabric worn and grey on tan arms. Kihyun thinks he may have been wearing those same sweats for three days now, and of course he doesn’t blame him. Taking a closer look in the contrasted shadow from the kitchen light, Kihyun notices it’s his own hoodie. 

 

“Hey,” Kihyun responds, sliding his backpack of his shoulder and throwing it onto the sofa where it then falls to the floor. Kihyun leaves it there. “Class was awful today,” he continues on his way to the kitchen, but not before turning on the overhead light. 

 

“Same,” is all Hyungwon says. He takes another book from his stack and opens it, aged and yellowed from the years, spine falling apart at the seams. Kihyun can’t believe the library still lets people check those out without some sort of paperwork. 

 

Kihyun changes the subject. “Why were you sitting in the dark?” He attempts to pull the canister of coffee from the top of the fridge, shirt riding up enough to let cold air give him goosebumps (they’re too broke to afford heating this year). Kihyun can hear the obnoxious scrape of the wooden chair on laminate tile. “You’re already blind as fuc—”

 

“Shut up,” Hyungwon says from beside him, causing Kihyun to shriek and jump backwards. “It wasn’t dark when I came home after class.” Hyungwon effortlessly retrieves the canister from the top of the fridge, shit eating grin on his stupid face, and Kihyun frowns.

 

“That’s why you should maybe get the Hell up when you notice the sun has gone down,” Kihyun snaps, snatching the canister from Hyungwon’s hands. Even though they’re grad students now, Kihyun still won’t sacrifice his back breaking from sitting in a shitty wooden dining chair in the dark all day just so he doesn’t disrupt the study atmosphere. He did enough of that in undergraduate.

 

Hyungwon rolls his eyes. “Stop being ugly.” Hyungwon can take care of himself, Kihyun knows that.

 

“Fuck you.” Kihyun pushes past Hyungwon to their cheap little coffee maker with it’s charred, stained warming plate.  “Is there water in this?” he asks absently, referring to the coffee maker, forgiving Hyungwon’s comment that easily. 

 

“Yeah, I put some in there earlier but forgot about it,” Hyungwon replies as he leans against the opposite counter in their ten square feet kitchen, bare feet on white laminate tiles not-so-white anymore.

 

At that, Kihyun presses the switch, back turned to Hyungwon, and the machine whirrs to life (or more like it begs to be turned off because it can’t go on much longer like this). 

 

After some encouraging to the coffee maker and some begging to God, the pot begins filling up gradually with weak, cheap coffee, and Kihyun has honestly never been more thankful for it than in this moment. He’s tired. Tired of difficult coursework and thesis writing. Tired of being a teacher’s assistant to a bunch of eighteen year olds who either think they know everything or don’t honestly give a fuck about the class. He’s tired of coming home and seeing Hyungwon. 

 

And that sounds bad. And he doesn’t mean it. He could never mean it. But the friendship is different know. It’s harder. It’s harder to look at Hyungwon. It’s harder to be around him. It stopped being comfortable—not that it was  _ ever _ comfortable. It’s always been weird, maybe. But they aren’t eighteen with big dreams and starry eyes anymore. They aren’t twenty one years old excited to finally graduate. They’re twenty three and stuck in this dingy apartment as two stressed grad students who haven’t had a healthy let out of any emotion or carnal feeling in fifteen months. But Kihyun doesn’t know anyone he’d rather be in this situation with other than Hyungwon. But Kihyun isn’t eighteen chasing Hyungwon to university anymore. Kihyun isn’t forcing himself to study American literature anymore—anything to be with Hyungwon, near him, that is. And yet here he still is. He’s tired of seeing Hyungwon, and he’s not sure why (he can’t have him, and it’s exhausting).

 

“How’s your thesis? Tired of coming yourself over Whitman?” Kihyun snorts, taking a mug from the cabinet and filling it halfway with hot, watered down coffee. Kihyun turns around, mug in his hands, to face Hyungwon.

 

“Whitman is a good poet. Fuck off. You can’t even talk; you changed your major in undergraduate to bio. What do you fucking know?”

 

“No one likes Whitman,” Kihyun states, ignoring Hyungwon, blowing into his cup to cool it off.  “What’s so good about a pretentious, vain asshole who denies his blatant homosexuality?” Kihyun was a literature major long enough to grasp that much about Whitman, if anything. 

 

“I don’t know, you fucking tell me,” Hyungwon forces through his teeth, condescending smile plastered on his face. Kihyun’s face turns red, but he lets it fall.

 

“I can’t stand you,” he glares, mug burning his hands.

 

“Maybe you don’t like Whitman because he makes you realizes things about yourself you want to bury.” Hyungwon wrenches the cup from Kihyun’s hands, hot liquid sloshing over the rim and onto both of their fingers and jacket sleeves.

 

“ _ Fuck, _ Hyungwon,” Kihyun says hoarsely, wiping the coffee on the front of his jacket, fingers burning. “Are you working on your fucking psych masters, too? Fuck off.” Kihyun pulls the hoodie over his head, smell of coffee staining the cotton almost sickening. Hyungwon angrily drops the mug into the metal sink, and it shatters, coffee splashing everywhere.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Kihyun asks as the taller pulls off his (Kihyun’s) own hoodie. A small sliver of Hyungwon’s tan stomach peeks through, and Kihyun wants to drop dead over the entire situation. Why is Kihyun always wrong?

 

Hyungwon ignores him, face in his hands.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Hyungwon,” Kihyun starts, but he’s cut off before he can say anything else.

 

“What are we doing?” Hyungwon asks through his fingers. He sounds manic and tired. It’s almost terrifying. It’s startling.

 

“You’re yelling at me for being apparently in denial about my sexuality, and I’m yelling at you for liking a shit fucking poet,” Kihyun says, pulling the hem of his white t-shirt forward to inspect it of any coffee stains. They’re ridiculous. 

 

“I can’t fucking stand you.” It’s Hyungwon’s turn to say it this time. But it comes out quietly and like he’s fighting a losing battle, and Kihyun looks at him for this.

 

“I know what I like; I’m not in denial,” Kihyun says firmly, and it feels too serious even in this atmosphere—like he has something to prove (to someone). He feels too transparent. 

 

“Oh, yeah? And what the fuck is that?” He knows Hyungwon is taunting him; he fucking  _ knows _ , but it doesn’t stop him lashing out.

 

“Fuck you. You know damn well.” Kihyun’s voice sounds too deep in his own ears, and his chest is on fire. How is this going to end? When this passes, what will living together be like? How deep is this cutting into their already strained relationship? Kihyun doesn’t want to think about it. Hyungwon has been around Kihyun too long for him to not know. Kihyun has looked at him too long for him to not know. Kihyun has purposefully destroyed moments too much for him to not know.

 

Hyungwon speaks up, louder this time. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice wavers, and the pitch changes; it sounds close to breaking. Kihyun’s not sure what Hyungwon means by the question. He just wants to go to his room and die in his bed under his dirty sheets. He’s tired. This is is exhausting. Fuck Hyungwon. Fuck himself.

 

“I am really tired,” Kihyun starts, throat closing up, “of living in this apartment trying to pretend that I am okay with how things are.” Kihyun didn’t chase Hyungwon for the last seven years for them to end up this way. He didn’t break himself over university and claw his way here, here with Hyungwon, for things to be like this. Kihyun didn’t suffer through the agony of realizing he wanted to be around Hyungwon in more ways than just friendly ones. Kihyun didn’t ruin bed sheets and cotton boxers and his sanity over Hyungwon the last seven years for things to end up this way. Kihyun refuses to fall apart (but it seems he already has).

 

Hyungwon is quiet, but he’s looking at Kihyun.

 

Kihyun presses his fingers into his eyes, dragging his eyelids. “What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?” 

 

“I want you to be honest. Just get it out into the open.” Hyungwon adjusts his glasses and crosses his arms almost to comfort himself, it seems.

 

Kihyun scoffs. “You want me to be honest? You want me to tell you I’ve chased you throughout high school and university just to be around you? That I’ve gotten off to you? That I want us to kiss and makeup and go back to everything being normal again? That saying these things wouldn’t turn everything to utter shit? Congratulations, you fucking got it then,” Kihyun yells, body rigid and shoulders tense. He can’t breathe, and his head hurts. His eyes sting. Humiliation isn’t something Kihyun can handle well. 

 

Hyungwon steps forward, and Kihyun swallows. He tries to brace himself for whatever is about to come. Kihyun, as always, can never read Hyungwon. 

 

But nothing crashes into him like he expects. Instead, Hyungwon pulls Kihyun towards him, Hyungwon’s body heat firm around his shoulders and then his chest. They press together, Kihyun’s eyes wide, and he can’t help but feel like they’re in a shitty soap opera. Kihyun wants to cry, and he can’t tell if it’s from the frustration, the hug, or the soap opera comparison. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Hyungwon says into Kihyun’s unwashed hair. They’re too old for this, he thinks. Kihyun can’t even reciprocate the hug, arms stiff against his ribs. And Kihyun feels like he deserves the apology. Even if he’s not sure what Hyungwon is sorry for. Even if it might not be sorry to the right thing. And maybe Hyungwon deserves an apology—for something, for everything—but Kihyun can’t offer it. It’s stuck in his throat, and he refuses to let it out.

 

Hyungwon keeps Kihyun like that long enough for him to finally return it, arms meeting behind Hyungwon’s back, taking in the scent of off-brand coffee, nineteenth century published library books, and must. It’s comforting. It’s Hyungwon. Kihyun suddenly feels like he’s the younger one in this friendship—relationship—intimacy of two people—mess.

 

“You got off to me, huh?” Kihyun hears in his ear, the voice undoubtedly smiling. It’s too close and too far away at the same time. Kihyun forces a small, disbelieving snort out of his nose and hits Hyungwon in the abdomen. 

 

“I can’t stand you,” Kihyun whispers into Hyungwon’s shoulder.

 

“I’ve been an asshole,” Hyungwon whispers this time, voice lower. Kihyun’s breath gets caught in his throat. “But you’ve been a bigger one.” Kihyun fights back a smile and closes his eyes. Fuck Hyungwon (but he’s right). The fight feels ridiculous. The stress feels ridiculous—in this moment, anyway. He wants to push it all away. Not under the rug or into a closet, because there it still exists. He wants to push it all away and have it disappear. Forget about it. 

 

“Friends?” Kihyun asks into the cotton of Hyungwon’s shirt. They still haven’t pulled apart, and it’s bordering on too intimate. 

 

“No,” Hyungwon says as he presses his forehead into Kihyun’s shoulder. The contrasting statement and gesture throw Kihyun off, and he feels sick. The nervous shattering of his heart is painful in his chest, and he can feel it in his stomach. He can only choke out a small  _ what  _ until Hyungwon straightens up just a fraction—arms still around Kihyun—and pulls Kihyun flush against him, lips pressing into Kihyun’s neck.  _ Fuck _ . 

 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” 

 

“Kihyun,” Hyungwon begins, pulling away from Kihyun to look at him, “are you stupid?” It’s like the scene is taking place underwater, and Hyungwon’s voice is garbled and otherworldly and his form is just as wavy as ripples. 

 

“Excuse me?” The anger begins boiling in his chest again, and he so badly wants to lay down and die. He has no idea what’s happening, and it frustrates him. 

 

“Have my signals been bad?” Hyungwon asks, eyebrows knit together. Kihyun can hear the metaphorical ding of realization ring in his ears. 

 

“ _ Your _ signals?” Kihyun asks as if this is one big fucking joke. “What signals? You’ve always been like this. What am I supposed to take from nothing that has been given? For fuck’s sake, Hyungwon.” Kihyun presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids. But his hands are clammy, and the words come out too fast. He feels lightheaded. Hyungwon just admitted  _ something _ . 

 

“I love ruining relationships as much as the next person,” Hyungwon begins, “but mine with you isn’t something I necessarily wanted to risk with this kind of thing.” And that softens Kihyun, knowing that Hyungwon valued something as messy and frustrating as their friendship.

 

“There is no fucking way, even in a hundred years, that I would have ever been able to pick up on any kind of signal you  _ supposedly _ dropped.” Hyungwon is stupid, or maybe Kihyun is oblivious. Maybe both. Always both.

 

“After a hundred years of being together, you wouldn't?” And at that, Kihyun wants to drown in Hyungwon. Even though their relationship has been nothing but cat-and-mouse fighting on the surface, Kihyun doesn’t think he’d take any of it back—wouldn’t change any stupid thing in it for the world (even if some days he feels he would trade Hyungwon for some string). Hyungwon reads too much Whitman and Cummings.

 

“You’re annoying,” Kihyun says as he turns away from Hyungwon. He means it, but he doesn’t. “And your signals are shit.”

 

“You still want to have sex with me.” He isn’t wrong. Hyungwon is attractive and tall, sleepy eyes and deep drawl of his voice, tan skin and pretty lips. Kihyun thinks at this point anything intrinsically Hyungwon is something he’s attracted to--even things he hates (poetry, being a great example). Kihyun has fantasized enough about Hyungwon’s mouth on his neck, nails on his skin, cock inside him. He has too many times.

 

“God, you’re  _ annoying _ ,” Kihyun huffs, leaning his backside against the counter, looking anywhere but at Hyungwon.

 

“We should,” is all Hyungwon says as he presses his hands against the counter on either side of Kihyun, pelvis dangerously close to Kihyun’s own. Kihyun waits for Hyungwon to finish his sentence but soon realizes that was it.  _ Oh _ .

 

Kihyun turns his head to the side. “We should what?” he asks dumbly, heart beating faster, face and neck turning pink. 

 

Hyungwon snorts and leans into Kihyun’s neck. “We should have sex.” Kihyun laughs disbelievingly; this whole situation is ridiculous, and yet. 

 

But should they?  _ Should  _ they have sex? Why? What will happen after? Why does Hyungwon want to? Why does he think they  _ should _ ?

 

“Don’t humour me, Hyungwon,” Kihyun says seriously. He feels like that’s not something he would have said, and he’s not sure why his body is suddenly on auto-pilot. Kihyun should be pulling Hyungwon toward him and rutting against him, not arguing. Not spitting out every insecurity in the form of defense. “Don’t fuck me because you think that’s what I want. Let’s not damage this any further.” Kihyun isn’t that sad. He isn’t. He won’t let himself be. And sad sex doesn’t sound like good sex. 

 

Hyungwon backs away, and Kihyun is thankful that Hyungwon is respectful, at least in this way.

 

“I think your own personal view of your value is awful,” Hyungwon tells him. But it doesn’t sound condescending or hurtful, and Kihyun wants to fall apart all over again. Hyungwon doesn’t look rejected or  _ dejected _ , but he does look tired of standing here fighting a losing battle. Kihyun is the embodiment of just one long, losing battle.

 

Kihyun ignores him and decides to ask anyway. “Why should we have sex? Why do you think we should? What good will come from us fucking?” And if this was a porno, no questions would be asked. Cocks would be hard and mouths would be on mouths. They’d be touching and moving sloppily to someone’s bed. They’d be blindly searching for lube in messy drawers and spreading their legs. 

 

“Kihyun,” Hyungwon says again, for the one hundreth time, one thousandth time, ten thousandth time. “I like you. I’m bad at this. I know exactly what I want, and so do you, and yet you’re over analyzing and questioning everything to the point that it doesn’t make sense. It’s really that simple. It really is. But I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.” Kihyun bites his bottom lip stupidly in the silence, and they stand there for a good moment. So long that Kihyun is surprised Hyungwon hasn’t walked away to carry on with his fucking life. Maybe Kihyun is relieved about it. Hyungwon has responded in every way he’s wanted in this entire conversation, from words to actions. Hyungwon did all the things Kihyun could have responded to, sexually and flirtatiously,  _ happily _ , and Kihyun  _ still _ fucked it up. Every one of Hyungwon’s attempts to make the situation better only fell through because of Kihyun’s own insecurity and frustration.

 

Kihyun is fucking up, has fucked up, and he knows Hyungwon understands. He can’t keep being like this, but he knows Hyungwon understands. And they can’t fuck, not like this. He has been an idiot this whole time, not realizing Hyungwon’s subtle feelings and not understanding him blowing up just minutes before. He’s been insensitive, selfish, and he’s tired of being a brat. How is he going to fix this?

 

“Do you want to get coffee?” Hyungwon asks as he puts reassuring hands on Kihyun’s shoulders. “Like, real coffee,” Hyungwon adds quickly, eyes darting to the floor where there stained jackets lay.

 

Kihyun laughs a small breathy laugh from his nose. “Yeah.” They can work on it, he guesses. It’ll mend eventually.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i love sarah and she also agrees with me that hyungwon would love walt whitman 
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated!!!!!! ahhh T___T this is my first monsta x fic and lately ive been really down about my writing but hopefully this wasnt so terrible.


End file.
